| |
| THERE dwelt a man in faire Westmerland, | |
| Ionnë Armestrong men did him call, | |
| He had nither lands nor rents coming in, | |
| Yet he kept eight score men in his hall. | |
| |
| He had horse and harness for them all, | 5 |
| Goodly steeds were all milke-white; | |
| O the golden bands an about their necks, | |
| And their weapons, they were all alike. | |
| |
| Newes then was brought unto the king | |
| That there was sicke a won 1 as hee, | 10 |
| That livëd lyke a bold out-law, | |
| And robbëd all the north country. | |
| |
| The king he writt an letter then, | |
| A letter which was large and long; | |
| He signëd it with his owne hand, | 15 |
| And he promised to doe him no wrong. | |
| |
| When this letter came Ionnë untill, | |
| His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree: | |
| “Never was I sent for before any king, | |
| My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee. | 20 |
| |
| “And if wee goe the king before, | |
| I would we went most orderly; | |
| Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak, | |
| Laced with silver laces three. | |
| |
| “Every won of you shall have his velvett coat, | 25 |
| Laced with sillver lace so white; | |
| O the golden bands an about your necks, | |
| Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke.” | |
| |
| By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock, | |
| Towards Edenburough gon was hee, | 30 |
| And with him all his eight score men; | |
| Good lord, it was a goodly sight for to see! | |
| |
| When Ionnë came befower the king, | |
| He fell downe on his knee; | |
| “O pardon, my soveraine leige,” he said, | 35 |
| “O pardon my eight score men and mee!” | |
| |
| “Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong, | |
| For thy eight score men nor thee; | |
| For tomorrow morning by ten of the clock, | |
| Both thou and them shall hang on the gallowtree.” | 40 |
| |
| But Ionnë look’d over his left shoulder, | |
| Good Lord, what a grevious look looked hee! | |
| Saying, “Asking grace of a graceles face— | |
| Why there is none for you nor me.” | |
| |
| But Ionnë had a bright sword by his side, | 45 |
| And it was made of the mettle so free, | |
| That had not the king stept his foot aside, | |
| He had smitten his head from his faire boddë. | |
| |
| Saying, “Fight on, my merry men all, | |
| And see that none of you be taine; | 50 |
| For rather then men shall say we were hange’d, | |
| Let them report how we were slaine.” | |
| |
| Then, God wott, faire Eddenburrough rose, | |
| And so besett poore Ionnë rounde, | |
| That fowerscore and tenn of Ionnes best men | 55 |
| Lay gasping all upon the ground. | |
| |
| Then like a mad man Ionne laide about, | |
| And like a mad man then fought hee, | |
| Untill a falce Scot came Ionne behinde, | |
| And runn him through the faire boddee. | 60 |
| |
| Saying, “Fight on, my merry men all, | |
| And see that none of you be taine; | |
| For I will stand by and bleed but awhile, | |
| And then will I come and fight againe.” | |
| |
| Newes then was brought to young Ionne Armestrong, | 65 |
| As he stood by his nurses knee, | |
| Who vowed if ere he live’d for to be a man, | |
| O the treacherous Scots revengd hee’d be. | |
